


There Are Worse Things

by ritazien



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grease, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-16 10:42:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4622322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritazien/pseuds/ritazien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just for the summer.</p><p>But then Steve moved to Tony's school, and senior year was uprooted for both of them. Tony wants this last chance to act out, and Steve just wants to get by and get out, but it doesn't quite work out that way for either of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summer Loving

**Author's Note:**

> the modern grease au that no one asked for.
> 
> shout out to catrina (yocatrina on AO3/mattmurcok.tumblr) for being way too easy on me as a beta.
> 
> and noah (hwkeyebarton.tumblr) for also being way too easy on me as a beta, as well as an a+ cheerleader.

The sun was setting low over the ocean, and it cast an incredible light over the boy next to him, all sandy blond hair and blue eyes that were far too aware of the effect they had when they turned on him.

Tony’s arm was draped around Steve’s shoulder and their bodies were tucked together on the sand, as they had been all summer. He positioned himself to hover over Steve, casting a shadow over his bare chest as he stared up at Tony with a smile too wicked to belong on a face so damn angelic.

“I have a great idea,” he said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “Let’s never leave this beach.”

Steve hummed in consideration. “Might get a bit chilly in a few months.”

“At least it’ll be quiet,” he murmured.

“There’s that.” Steve reached up to his neck and let his fingers slide up into his hair before he brought them back down to the base and dragged Tony’s mouth down to his own.

He sighed and lowered his chest to press against Steve’s, taking this opportunity to slide his hands through that salt-thick hair. His hand clenched around a handful as Steve’s hand on his hip rolled them both over and pushed his back into the sand. Despite every reasonable instinct telling him to shut up and enjoy this, his eyes flickered open and he broke the kiss, which was very difficult when Steve was leaning over him, licking his lips and letting his hand travel lower than acceptable in a place so public and usually populated with families.

He inhaled and was somehow still breathless. “What time do you leave in the morning?”

Steve frowned. “Seven.”

Tony grinned, already preparing to suppress the rush of this summer. He ached at the thought of not seeing Steve again, but he knew that once he returned to the same school, the same people, the same expectations, he would be swept up in the numbness that came with being everything Tony Stark had to be.

So he grinned, because the next few hours were all he had and he refused to think about anything beyond that. “Better make tonight count, then.”

Steve smiled at that, and pressed his lips to the space behind Tony’s jaw that made him weak, and their feet flicked sand across each other as they stretched and moved to get closer to each other, because there was no such thing as close enough.

-

The next two weeks Tony spent welcoming his friends home from their vacations as they returned one by one. Rhodey was home first, showing off his new cadet uniform in the California sun. He insisted on staying inside most of the time, making up for the complete lack of air conditioning at training camp. Tony rolled his eyes, but was glad for the opportunity to sit in the dark playing video games a few days more, putting off bumping into anyone he might see at school. 

Pepper came home a week later with a fresh San Francisco tan and a purse full of stolen stationary from her internship. “They deserved it,” she insisted.

Following her came Natasha and Thor, who spent their respective summers in Europe.

“Germany is magnificent,” were the first words out of Thor’s mouth, and he went on to lecture Tony about the formation and architectural history of the country.

“How was Russia?” he asked Nat, and she just sighed.

“My grandparents are bigots.” She folded herself deftly on his couch and picked up a game control. “Home sweet home.”

The group was gathered around a bonfire that night, passing around a concealed bottle of gin - the only item from his father’s extensive collection that he could count on Howard not missing - when Pepper started in with the peer pressure.

“Seriously, Tony, what did you do all summer?”

He took a drink and passed the bottle to Rhodey, nerves kicking in his stomach. “Nothing.” He looked up to a collection of bored stares, blatantly disbelieving. “I just hung out, Jesus.”

“You never just hang out,” Natasha said, watching him carefully. “Did you meet someone?”

He scoffed and laid back, stretching his hands to rest behind his head on the sand. “I got Dr. Quill’s number.”

“Who is that?” Thor asked, taking the bottle from Rhodey. He typically needed twice as much alcohol to get half as drunk as the rest of them. He didn’t even cringe at the burn Tony could still feel in his throat, and Tony had plenty of practice with this whole underage drinking deal.

Pepper answered for him, shaking her head. “A professor at M.I.T. I can’t believe you turned that down, by the way.”

“Not like it was my choice,” he grumbled. That one topped the list of reasons to resent his father. How many seventeen year olds were offered a place at M.I.T.? Apparently just the ones whose parents had a tutor draw up a five-year plan that began with business school and ended with an executive position at the family company. The family-friendly, profit-scavenging, stiff-collar corporation that has already taken too much of his father’s attention. That five-year plan were the only years his father concerned himself with regarding his son. God forbid Tony be allowed to enjoy the present, or have any thought regarding his desires beyond an exec desk job.

“You’re deflecting,” Natasha said, a remarkable absence of judgement in her tone.

“He’s totally deflecting,” Rhodey agreed, taking the gin back from Thor. “This stuff is disgusting.”

“Fine,” he said, giving it up. It was still summer, and the last days of late-night heat were getting to his head, among other things. “I had a fling,” he declared.

Pepper made a smug little noise and Rhodey snorted. He sat up and ignored Natasha’s smirk. Even silently, he was being pressed for details. “He was a boy, she was a girl, can I make it any more obvious?”

“ _No_ ,” Rhodey groaned.

“Tony,” Pepper said, and he met her steely gaze. “I will hurt you.”

“I don’t know what you guys have against Avril Lavigne, but fine. I got myself caught in a riptide at the beach, and he pulled me out. Gave me a little more than CPR, if you know what I mean.”

“I was wrong, I don’t want to hear this.” Natasha stood, pulled her shirt off right there, and wandered down to the shoreline, where she stripped off her jeans and dove into the sea. Thor shrugged and ran down to join her.

“I’m done,” Rhodey muttered, and rested the bottle in the sand near Tony with a rough cough.

“So what happened with the guy?” Pepper asked, and Rhodey tuned in to hear the answer.

“He went back to New York,” he said casually, like he hadn’t been thinking about him since he left. He’d been having trouble getting out of bed in the morning, always chasing his dreams of those blue eyes and broad shoulders back into unconsciousness.

He kept talking. “We hooked up all summer, and he _drew_ me, that was incredible. Have you ever hooked up with an artist, Rhodey? I recommend it.” Pepper’s lips turned up in the faintest smile, and Tony knew when he needed to compensate. “Not afraid of PDA either; we’re both banned from Baskin Beach.”

“God, really?” Pepper tossed a handful of sand his way. He grinned and squinted against the attack. They were banned for sneaking in families who didn’t know they had to pay to get onto the beach, but there was nothing wrong with letting his friends assume the worst. Making out was way more fun behind lifeguard stands than in front of strangers and tourists anyway. The best option was always bribing his way inside the lifeguard shack, but that was a whole other story.

-

School started a week later, and Tony stared up at the brick misery that was Rydell High from his ’57 Thunderbird, sleek and shining red in the early morning sun. He grabbed his jacket from the passenger seat, not that he’d need it in this weather.

Even slung over his shoulder, the leather was armor, and he would kick this year’s ass as long as he had his car, his jacket, and his friends. His friends, who were heading across the lawn to meet him, already rowdy with the rush of seeing their classmates, and more importantly, showing off that their summer glows were the light of the hallways. Everyone else was dim in comparison.

Natasha was the first to reach him, grinning and chewing gum in that lopsided way she made effortlessly cool. She slung an arm around his shoulder as they joined the rest of the group.

“Long time, no see,” Pepper said, and shoved a light elbow to his arm.

He smirked in return, and glanced around, taking in the dewy grass, clear windows and rusting lunch tables that felt disconcertingly like coming home for uncomfortable family gatherings. Except that instead of butterscotch grandmothers, this place was full of the jackasses who kicked him around in third grade, and the scrawny kids he kicked around in ninth. He regretted that. These days, he only picked fights with the jocks and guys from their rival school, Belmore, who clearly had no taste and always took shit too far.

“’Sup, T-Birds?” someone called from behind Tony. Natasha smiled and Rhodey nodded in greeting.

“Hey, man,” he said.

Tony turned and laughed. “Wilson, buddy, one of these days, you’ll actually spend a summer having _fun_. Is there even an ounce of fat left on you?”

Sam was all lean muscle and glowing dark skin in the sunlight. “Got my pilots license, bet that’s more than you can say.”

Tony rolled his eyes, but his gaze caught on a badge stitched into Sam’s grey cotton cardigan. He squinted. “Is that what I think it is?”

He crossed his arms, chest puffed out proudly, emblem on display. “Falcon Crew’s gonna rule this year, Stark.”

“Hell yeah,” Clint shouted, jogging over to the fast-forming group, Bucky and Peggy in tow. Clint half-jumped on Sam, their matching jumpers as ridiculous as it gets. He slid down, and Sam clapped him on the back. Tony noticed the glint of light on a clean, near-invisible hearing aid. He’d upgraded.

“What’s up with the uniform?” Rhodey asked, and inclined his head to Bucky. “James.”

“James,” Bucky returned, and everyone else gave a long-suffering sigh. The response was almost as ingrained as the James’ tradition, which started on the first day of high school as a joke and continued through senior year as a compulsion.

“Do I really have to say it?” Sam asked, eyeing the jacket in Tony’s hand.

“What?” Thor asked, and looked around at his own group. “Oh,” he chuckled. “He has a point.”

Tony’s black leather jacket fit right in with the ones Natasha and Rhodey had on despite the heat, and Pepper’s white tee could have come off the same rack as Thor’s, though admittedly the sizing was a bit different.

“It’s called style,” Pepper remarked, brushing her bangs away from her eyes.

“Alright,” Clint scoffed. “Call me when you join this era.”

Natasha raised her eyebrows. “Are you forgetting what you wore the entire month of January?”

“Purple’s always cool,” he dismissed.

“Purple is never cool,” Rhodey laughed.

“Let’s wrap this up, boys,” Peggy said, taking Bucky’s arm in hers. “We get first shot at the new guy, by the way.”

“New guy?” Tony asked, interest piqued.

“Don’t even think about it,” Pepper muttered.

He made an indignant sound and stood up straighter. “Who says anyone gets first shot?”

“You did when you poached Nat,” Clint stated. 

He scoffed. “She was my friend first.”

Clint ignored him and looked at Natasha with mock-betrayal. “You’re a traitor.”

“I never liked bowling,” she shrugged.

“But you’re so _good at it_ ,” Clint protested in frustration. She just smirked. She was used to being the best.

Tony couldn’t help but smile whenever he thought about the fact that the self-dubbed Falcon Crew started out as a bowling league when they couldn’t get the school to fund a club. They were never actually a threat to his crowd. 

They didn’t need any new members, anyway. This was senior year, they only needed each other. And to fuck around, of course, because if Tony isn’t at least arrested before his dad ships him across the country to an Ivy League, what is the point? The moment he walked through those doors would be the moment his self-destructive tendencies kicked it up a few notches. Tony 2.0: Senior Year. Nothing and no one on his mind but the renewal of his reputation. It was a bittersweet taste, but it was the only focus that could keep him sane.

With that thought in his mind, he walked away from the Falcons without a goodbye and waited for the others to follow him inside. 

“You okay?” Pepper asked at his side.

“I’m awesome.”

 


	2. Tell Me More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another thanks to noah and catrina, wonderful betas that they are.

In no way was Steve prepared for this. He expected to go home to New York, relive his summer nights until the memory of Tony Stark and his stubble faded from use. He expected to spend another semester of lunchtimes in the art studio. He had friends; well, more like acquaintances, since the kid he grew up with moved away before high school, and had what amounted to no online presence. Sometimes he thought of Bucky and missed him, but from the moment his plane landed at LaGuardia, his mind was on two people, neither of whom were his childhood partner-in-crime.

The first and most obvious was Tony. Tanned, laughing, intelligent Tony, tracing equations onto Steve’s back in the darkness of his cheap motel room. He didn’t have a chance at understanding the answers to the problems in Tony’s fingers, but he held greater answers in his sketchbook. When he arrived back in his room, he flipped through it to make sure the summer had happened the way he remembered. It had, and he breathed life back into his lungs as he ran his hand down the spine.

The second was his mother, who was moving him across the country for her new job in the Los Angeles office of her marketing firm. After everything she sacrificed just to keep him alive and keep them together, he couldn’t bring himself to protest. With the exception of the inimitable city skyline, there wasn’t all that much to keep him tied here. L.A. had a skyline as well.

So he spent his remaining days in the city filled with a mix of sorrow and optimism. He took to strolling through the quieter streets at night, and he found new routes for his morning runs. He didn’t want to miss this place without seeing as much of it as he could. He packed up most of the things that made up their modest Brooklyn apartment while his mother finished with the transfer paperwork at work. She came home tired, but on the last night, she was relieved, and he smiled when he walked out of his room to find her asleep on the couch.

-

The first morning in his new home, he woke up with a lump in the couch digging into his back. The morning air was different here. He cringed as he rolled out of the make-shift bed and padded to the shower. His eyes opened to a room scattered with cardboard boxes. This was not the bathroom. He backed out of what would probably be his bedroom when he unpacked, and stepped across the hall. Found it.

He wore the first pair of jeans he found in one of those boxes, and raced down breakfast so he wouldn’t be late. Late on his first day was not the entrance he was hoping to make.

Sarah smiled fondly across the table. “Honey, I think you’ve got time.”

He kissed her forehead before heading out, book bag slung across his chest.

Rydell was a little out of the way, but he found his way well enough, and rode down to the far end of the parking lot, where the line of cars dropped off. His pieced-together motorcycle fit without trouble in a space marked for small cars. His leg hooked around and he landed on the road with a squeak of his boots.

He pushed his hair back, free of the helmet, and gazed up at the school. From here, it looked about the same as every other high school he’d seen, only with significantly more grass around the entry than any school in the city. He smiled. This wasn’t a bad place to start over.

He wrapped a lock around the gears that tied the helmet to the bike, and shrugged out of his jacket. It did a decent job against the wind on the way over, but just standing in this sun was getting under his skin already. Jacked draped over his bag, he clung to the strap and hopped over the curb on his way inside, most of his focus on keeping his kicking nerves at bay.

“Stark’s gonna step it up this year, I’m telling you we need to be-” All hand gestures and walking backwards, the speaker knocked roughly into Steve and spun around in surprise. Steve reached down to pick up his jacket from the ground, and sighed as he straightened. Prepared for whatever ignorance or arrogance they had for him on his first day, the surprise kept coming at the grin on this guy’s face.

“Sorry,” he said, and stretched out his hand. “I’m Steve.”

The guy took it and shook as a girl behind him smiled so warmly Steve felt it in his chest.

“Clint.”

“Peggy,” she said, stepping up next to Clint. “Here, we’ll walk you to class.”

“Thanks,” he said, inexplicably at ease as she hooked her arm around his and Clint walked ahead of them, a path automatically clearing. “So, anything I should know about this place?”

She thought about it. “Nothing too bad. Sit in the middle if you don’t want to be called on. If you see a group of students in leather, like they just got back from a party at James Dean’s place, avoid them like the plague and thank me later.”

He frowned. “Bikers?”

“Greasers, more like,” she rolled her eyes.

“Noted.”

She held out her hand, palm up. “Let me see your timetable.”

He dug it out of his bag and handed it over. As she perused, he guided her through the halls, and Clint turned so that he was walking backwards.

“What’s your deal?” he asked, all curiosity and no tact.

“There is no deal,” Steve said, because how was he supposed to answer that?

Peggy looked up. “We’re going the wrong way, guys.”

“What class is he in?” Clint asked, trying ineffectively to read the page in her hands. She folded it in half and handed it back to Steve.

She looked at him with big brown eyes that dripped with sincerity. “In your class is a girl with red hair, you’ll want to fall in love with her, but resist that urge. There’s a girl named Angie, though, tell her you met me and she’ll show you around.”

“Thanks,” Steve said, resisting a smile. He was not expecting people to be this friendly.

“No problem. Here you are.” She parked him by an open classroom door as people shuffled in slowly. “Find us at lunch, okay?”

“We’re hard to miss,” Clint added.

Steve watched them head in the opposite direction, and realised the jumper Clint was wearing matched the one tied around Peggy’s waist. He knew this feeling, the suspicion that came with so blatantly being recruited, but it was a familiar sense in an unfamiliar place. He liked it.

He was doing pretty damn well for his first day.

-

Angie Martinelli was probably the bubbliest person he had ever met. She wasn’t over the top, but she sure made her presence known. He walked into his first class to her bantering with the teacher, and left on her heels as she led him to his next class.

“Peggy is a total sweetheart, I’m sure you’re already in love.”

“I don’t know about that,” he laughed. “But yeah, she’s nice.”

“Just keep those paws to yourself and we’ll be fine.” She winked and left in a flurry of bouncing curls and swirling skirts.

No one else paid him much attention until he sought out a group of grey cardigans at lunch. A few stares followed him throughout the morning, most notably from Natasha, the red-head Peggy mentioned, and a few of her friends as they gathered in the back of the classroom.

“Hey,” he called, the side door slamming shut behind him. He headed over to a table crowded with Peggy, Clint, and a few others, all in those grey jumpers.

They all turned to look at him, and he faltered at the sight of a guy his age, hair cropped, unlike the shaggy mess he remembered, but with a prosthetic left arm and scar in his eyebrow that made for one hell of a coincidence.

“Bucky?”

Bucky was frozen in place. Steve jogged over, dropped his bag on the ground, and pulled him into a hug. He relaxed into it, and some of Steve’s nerves melted away.

“Steve Rogers?”

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Shit, it’s been years,” he huffed.

“How do you two know each other?” Peggy asked, and bit a chunk out of her apple.

He felt a rush of relief at this turn of events. This move was really coming together. Thoughts of tracking down Tony kept interfering with any ideas of accepting the move as it was, but that was an issue for later. Right now, his childhood best friend was standing in front of him with a smile he hadn’t seen in too long.

“We grew up together,” Bucky supplied.

“Can you tell us how that arm happened?” Clint asked. Bucky just gave him a deadpan stare. Clint remained unaffected. “He’s told us he doesn’t remember.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, sliding onto the bench where they made room for him. “That’s all I know. He came home one summer with the injury, and he was such a bad liar, I don’t doubt it.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raised. “I’m right here.”

A guy leaned in past Peggy from her other side and flashed a smile of impossibly perfect teeth. “Hi. Sam Wilson.”

“Oh, hey! How’re you doing?”

“Those aren’t the New York manners I’ve heard about,” Sam teased.

Bucky smirked. “Nah, that’s just him. Not much changes, apparently.” He eyes shone.

Steve held his hands up in defence, ghost of a smile unable to leave his mouth as he enjoyed this group. “I thought this city was the nice one.”

“We’re all soft at heart,” Sam stage-whispered.

Peggy fought off a grin and turned to face Steve properly. “How much have you seen of it so far?”

“Plenty, actually. I spent the summer near here.”

“Shame,” Sam said, “How are we supposed to pull a crazy initiation prank on you if you could find your way _out_ of the woods?”

It was in his best interest, he decided immediately, to assume that he was joking. “For the record, I also know all the roads and seaways, just in case you’re not kidding.”

“That seems unlikely,” Peggy considered. “But we’re not that cruel.”

“Just please tell me you didn’t go to the beach alone, because that is too depressing,” Bucky moaned.

Clint slapped him, too hard, on his left arm. The clang resounded to Steve’s ears, and his cringe quickly turned into a grin as Clint cursed and cradled his hand.

“You alright there, buddy?” Bucky asked, peering down at him with amusement. His eyes met Steve’s, and they shared a smile like no time had passed.

“I was _going_ to say,” he grunted, breathed, and continued, “screw you, I go to the beach alone all the time.”

“Yeah,” Sam deadpanned, and turned to Steve. “You as pathetic as this guy?”

“Screw you too,” Clint shot.

Steve was more than happy to turn this conversation around. “Nah. Sorry, Clint. I met a guy from around here, and we, uh, became acquainted.”

“Damn, you work fast,” Sam said.

“Anyone we’d know?” Peggy asked, one eyebrow raised. She glanced around the table, and back to Steve. “We’re talking a more-than-friends situation, yes?”

“Not going to dignify that,” he answered. “But I don’t think he goes to school here. Tony Stark?”

Everyone fell silent.

Sam stared. “You’re kidding.”

Bucky cringed. “Really, Stevie?”

“What?” he asked. “ _Does_ he go here?”

“Dude, everyone in the state knows Stark,” Sam said, throwing his hands up in defeat.

Peggy’s hand was gentle on his shoulder. “Forget what I said about Natasha. Be careful with Tony, okay?”

“I’m going to need an explanation here, because the guy I met was nice.”

“Yeah, we’re going to need the details of this,” Sam said, leaning in against the table.

“Sam,” Bucky chastised, but his face joined the crowd of curious, intrusive gazes on him now.

He cleared his throat. “I don’t know what to tell you. It was a nice summer, he was sweet, we hung out at the beach a lot. His car is awesome, have you seen it?”

There was a collective eye roll and he took that as a yes.

“Tony and his T-Bird groupies,” Clint sighed. “Stick with us, Steve, you’ll be safer.”

“Safe? The cardigans definitely don’t give that away.”

Bucky made a sound of offence. “It’s not as cool if you call them cardigans.”

“He’s right,” Peggy agreed, swallowing another bite of apple. “ _Cardies_ is so much better.” She smiled at Steve. He liked this one.


	3. Nothing But A Hound Dog (Crying All The Time)

“Back to school bash?”

“Back to school bash.”

Pepper and Nat nodded in sincere agreement that attendance of this party was necessary. Tony tapped his pen against the carpet in a steady rhythm. It was barely audible, but Natasha’s foot came down on it nonetheless. She gave him a stern look, and he tossed it across the room, exasperated.

Pepper was lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, and Natasha sat on the edge, watching him in that hawk-eyed way she always did. Rhodey was at track and Thor was playing tour guide for interns at his father’s law firm.

“Is anyone going to explain to me why this party is on the first day of school and not, I don’t know, a week ago?”

“Half our class only came home this weekend,” Pepper provided.

“Thought you’d be glad for the distraction,” Natasha added.

“It’s a blessing from the gods,” he responded, absolutely no emotion behind the words. No, all his emotional reserves were tucked nicely in a stack of boxes in the cruxes of his mind, and they tended to break out and sabotage him just when he thought he was fine. With his father. With his mother’s death. With the empty faces of all the people he’s kissed, and the empty feelings they brought. With the full oasis that was a boy this summer, and the fact that if he ever saw him again, he would be a stranger to the both of them. He was already losing touch with what he saw in the mirror.

“We should meet the guys there at 9,” Pepper said to the ceiling.

He made a vague sound of agreement. Her phone buzzed dully against his pillows, and she rolled onto her stomach to check it. She sat straight up, wide eyes smoothing back into her usual calm expression as he and Natasha stared at her.

“Well?” Nat asked. Pepper handed her the phone, the latest model that was waiting in her P.O. box when she returned from San Francisco, because yes, she had her own P.O. box. Tony used it sometimes to order items he’d rather keep from his family, typically of the bolts, gears and wires persuasion, which he’d take to the storage unit he rented out as a makeshift workshop. Jarvis was the one who dealt with the Stark financials, and he’d taken to brushing that indiscretion under the rug when reporting to Howard.

Natasha’s expression showed no reaction to whatever the text was on Pepper’s screen, but then she looked up at Tony and a smile spread slowly. He took that as a good sign. If this was something to do with a scheme or secret involving him, she wouldn’t give a single sign of it. She was the single best liar he knew, and sometimes that concerned him, but mostly it just came in handy.

He rolled his eyes and sat up. “Alright, let me see it.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” She passed the phone back to Pepper, who tucked it back into her school bag.

“Really?” he groaned. “Who was it from?”

“Rhodey. It’s gossip, probably just smack talk from Sam at practice,” Pepper assured him.

He was not so easily assured. “You’ve never used the phrase ‘smack talk’ in your life.”

“I’m expanding my vocabulary.”

“You’re both better liars than this. I’m not even mad, I’m just,” he peered up with the sappiest puppy eyes he could manage, “disappointed.”

Natasha pushed his face away with her palm, and he nodded, not surprised in the least at that reaction.

“Trust me, it’s much more amusing for us if you don’t know,” she said.

“This is all kinds of unfair,” he grumbled.

“Poor little rich boy,” she intoned, her faux sympathy not fooling anyone, and not meant to.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be? Go and… buy dresses or something.”

“Don’t sulk, Tony, it never works,” Pepper sighed.

He rolled onto his back, stared up at the ceiling, hands behind his head. “Remind me why I keep you around?”

“Without us, you’d be nothing,” she said, blasé, and he couldn’t disagree. “Now, get up and find something to wear tonight.”

He frowned. “What’s wrong with this?” He mentally catalogued his Van Halen shirt, ripped jeans and leather jacket, and it gave him pause. She might have half a point here.

“You smell like oil, sweat and shop class,” Natasha said, ever helpful.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Well,” Pepper huffed as she sat up and rolled neatly off the bed. “I have an appointment. You need a ride?”

He was already zoning out, but he forced his attention back to the reality at hand. Natasha nodded, unfolded her legs, and joined Pepper in gathering her things.

“Any fashion disasters are on you, for abandoning me,” he called as they approached his bedroom door.

Pepper’s hair flipped over her shoulder, and she shot him a look, the kind he’d long deciphered as fond. “I’m okay with that.”

Nat shrugged in agreement and they headed out with an echo of the word, “Later!”

He exhaled deeply and clambered off the floor, wandered over to his walk-in wardrobe and flipped idly through it. He crouched down to sort through the pile of recently washed clothes that were in a heap on the wardrobe floor. A few t-shirts, a button-down, and then the shorts were in his hand, the ones he’d worn nearly every day for two months. He stared at them, nerves in his gut, some sort of remainder of those days, but then the butterflies turned to sorrow. He missed Steve. It was a difficult thing to admit to, but it was easier to feel it here, alone, crushing the shorts in his fist like he could find some remnant of that boy hidden in the fibres. He sat back on his heels, in the paradox of feeling too old for everything else, but too young for this. He couldn’t decide if he was being cynical or naive, but at least he wouldn’t have to make that decision right now. He had to forget any daydreams of a reunion, he had too much actual shit to deal with in his life, in the present.

Such as, apparently, finding a clean shirt. He tossed the shorts away and stood up so fast his head spun, the white button-down clutched in his hand. That and a pair of black jeans (no less grease-stained, but the dark hue hid the worst of it, and the smell had been washed out), and he was off to the shower.

It was fast and cold, and he spent the remaining hours laid on the floor with his sketchbook and tech designs.

-

The party was one step away from being a rager. On a Monday night.

Tony couldn’t pretend to be surprised; the students of Rydell High were hardly known for their self-control and respect for authority. Some guy jostled into him and he stood firm with a heavy glare until the guy moved out of his way.

“Nice,” Rhodey called, sidestepping a game of beer pong on his way toward Tony. “Glad you could make it.”

“And miss everyone we know getting smashed in the first week of school? Not a chance.”

“Hey,” he said, a slight sway in his step already. Tony checked his watch. Half past nine. He worked fast. “You’ll be joining the drunken parade soon enough, if I know you.”

Tony shrugged, no argument for that. “Maybe. Can’t deny the people their fun.”

And so he drank. Too much and too fast, to rival even Rhodey. He met Thor shot for shot, and with his increasing intoxication, he also became increasingly amazed at his opponent’s sobriety. Sobriety might be too generous, but jesus fuck he was wasted and Thor was still winning at beer pong across the room.

He spun around to the rhythm of the room, bass beats vibrating into his feet from the stained carpet floor. Outside, he should go outside, where the air is.

Moments flashed by until he was at a glass door, struggling to remember how exactly he’d gotten there. This was not a good sign. He pushed it open roughly and stepped out into a warm breeze. Ugh, this was heaven. He slumped down against the brick beside the door, and shuffled across so he was further in the shadow of the house, just watching the light that spilled out of the open door. He tried to pick out sounds from inside, but it was a tangle of noise and his mind was drifting anyway.

The door slammed shut and he looked up to see Rhodey and Pepper coming out to find him.

“What are you doing?” Pepper asked. She stepped out of her heels and folded down beside him.

Rhodey leaned on the brick wall, and peered down at them, red cup in hand.

“Getting some air,” Tony sighed.

“You okay?” Rhodey asked, head tilted.

Tony looked up at him, but the overhead light obscured his face and hurt Tony’s eyes. It pulsed behind his face, and he could already feel the beginning of tomorrow’s hangover.

“I’m great,” he said bitterly. He reached up and took the cup out of Rhodey’s hand. “I’m Tony Stark. I’m so good.” His mouth contorted in a dumb grin as he remembered that he was Tony Stark. He was Tony Stark. He was cool. He was smart. He was trapped and the thudding in his head was a pair of fists knocking at his walls. He took a long drink from the cup, oblivious to the taste but fully aware of the burn in his throat, and the pounding quieted.

“Yeah, you are.” Pepper ruffled his hair, and rested her head on his shoulder. It felt nice. She was warm.

He raised the cup, for Rhodey to take it back, and stroked Pepper’s head gently. Slowly, carefully, he started to stand up, and only stumbled once, arm caught by her as she shot up quickly with him. He squared his shoulders for the illusion of sobriety.

There was a scuffle of shoes on gravel, and then heels on the pavement. A group came into view, not wearing their matching jumpers, but just as righteously united even with their stupid synchronised walk. Did they realise it was synchronised?

“What’s up, going for synchronised swimming this year? You should all match your shoes to Peggy’s heels,” he threw a hazy smile to Rhodey, “so you can really nail the Single Ladies thing you’ve got going on.” He picked out each word so they wouldn’t slur, but that sounded almost as strange.

“You should be nice to us, Tony,” Sam said, his smirk too smug. “We have a surprise for you.”

“Oh yeah?” He couldn’t think of a better comeback.

But then Steve walked up, he and Bucky trailing behind the group, and all thoughts deserted Tony’s mind, leaving behind only the thudding in his head and the aching slams of his heart in his chest, both trying to outdo one another. His throat was dry, too dry, why was he only noticing now?

Steve looked up, and his concentrated frown dropped off into the brightest smile Tony had seen in weeks. It was so idiotic, what was it even doing on that face? What was that face even doing here? But then, step by step, Steve was right in front of him, and he could feel the disbelief in his own expression. He wrapped his arms around Steve and pressed his face into his neck, ready to pass out just from that scent he’d almost forgotten. His arms started to ache from hugging him so tight, but Steve’s grip on him was just as intense.

Someone in the distance, someone unimportant, cleared their throat, and snapped Tony out of the fog to which he’d succumbed. He released his arms and ran his hands down Steve’s arms as they parted.

“What are you doing here?”

Steve’s eyes searched his for something Tony was sure wasn’t there. “My mom was transferred.”

“Like fate, huh? Except that fate doesn’t exist, and you shouldn’t be here.” He shouldn’t be here to witness Tony 2.0, that was not meant for Steve to see. Steve, who was so good and sweet and strong, with a look in his eye that could make Tony reconsider everything. But Tony didn’t reconsider. He was… this. He was this, and that wasn’t going to change. He couldn’t stand to see that face, it expected too much of him. His thoughts echoed aloud, “I don’t want you here.”

But the words seemed wrong, like they didn’t contain the true message, but he couldn’t figure out where he went wrong, and he just wanted Steve to go back into the memories that Tony couldn’t fuck up. He murmured, “I don’t…”

And he walked away. He walked past Pepper, past Rhodey, not even seeing their faces, and he made it inside, to a couch that held Thor, finally tired and hanging out low-key, and he curled up next to the guy, who, he noted for the eight-hundredth time since they met, had the body of a god.

This was warm, but his insides felt frozen over.


	4. Look At Me

Everything hurt.

Light crawled through the cracks in Tony’s eyelids, and he shut them tight against it. His arm ached, and he had the distant memory of trying to cartwheel and crashing into a coffee table. He was not a gymnast.

With a heavy groan, he forced his body to flop onto his stomach in whichever bed this was, but it wasn’t a bed, and he fell hard onto plush carpet with a thump. He groaned again, not awake enough to care about the pain in his arm, or the person he’d landed on.

Thor shoved him off and rolled onto his side, an easy return to sleep. Tony knew that would be impossible for him now. He sat up as slowly as physically possible, and opened his eyes in one sharp motion, as if that was preparation enough for the searing pain that shot through his skull with the sudden change. They closed immediately, of their volition, and he had to crack them open a millimetre at a time just to see at all.

He was… He was in Pepper’s room. Lush beige carpet enveloped his bare feet, and he dug his hands into it as he sat up. He’d fallen off the couch in her bedroom. Thor was on the floor beside him, his head was beating out a steady drum of pain, Pepper was tucked up in the bed, Rhodey and Natasha crammed in with her, and his arm was protesting every movement.

He groaned, low like gravel, and pushed himself up to stand. He pushed back whatever tangled mess his hair had become in the night.

This was Pepper’s room. Items of clothing strewn about the room, not hers; a monthly planner tacked up above her pristine desk, which held a few gadgets that even he didn’t recognise. It was nice here. It was nice to be with his friends again.

It was awful to remember through the morning fog a series of images that could have easily been a dream, a wistful dream of Steve, but he has a feeling that it was reality, and there is a stone in his stomach. He couldn’t have said that he didn’t want Steve here, he couldn’t imagine letting those words pass his lips. Had they, really? He didn’t trust his own memory. He would ask Pepper. He had to ask her. She would know. She didn’t drink last night, she would have to know.

This was a misunderstanding with his own psyche.

He dropped slowly back onto the couch, and curled up despite the pressure of his jeans against his knees. His eyes stung, and he desperately craved every hangover cure that existed, but it was early. It was too early. The only cure for his dry eyes was to close them and forget any troubles as he drifted back to sleep.

-

Ringing pierced his ears. The urge to throw something fought through his subconscious and dragged him, kicking and screaming, into consciousness. He was awake again. How did everything hurt more?

Apparently he was not the only one annoyed with the high-pitched sound of Pepper’s old-school alarm clock, going off right next to her head. Her hand slammed down on it, and the rest of the group stopped throwing abuse at it.

“Fuck, why,” Rhodey groaned, and pulled the covers over his head.

Natasha, in the middle of him and Pepper, pushed them back down and snapped, “Watch it. I’m hot.”

“Someone get coffee in her,” Tony sighed. “Before she makes us hurt worse. With her… kicky… punchy… ugh.” He couldn’t deal with this.

Pepper folded out of her side of the bed with unnatural grace. “Tell me again why you’re in AP English?” she smirked. He hated it.

He hated everything. “Because they let me sleep,” he muttered.

She was a shadow over him, and the absence of sunlight was almost worth the look of expectation as she stood above him, hands on hips, freckles bare, skin glowing, and eyes slanted in perfect judgement of him.

“Leave me alone.”

She raised her voice. “Anyone not downstairs in fifteen doesn’t get coffee and breakfast.”

There was a collective moan.

“Take pity,” Thor pleaded.

“You’re the ones who got wasted on the first day of school,” she sang, stepping into slippers and opening the door with as much noise as possible. How could someone so angelic be so cruel to such poor souls?

He pondered this as he forced himself off the couch. He couldn’t survive without coffee on a normal day, let alone when he was feeling this utterly wrecked.

“Dibs,” he called, his voice too loud for his ears, as he stepped over Thor’s head and made for the door to Pepper’s ensuite.

“What?” Rhodey sat up, bleary-eyed.

Natasha fell out of the bed, landed like a cat, and aimed a glared right at Tony. “Make it fast. I’m next.”

“What?” Thor sat up now too.

He slipped into the bathroom, locked it behind him, and stumbled into the shower, stripping as fast as he could.

Water came out smooth and warm to soothe his aches and ease his thoughts. He stood under it for a few minutes, eyes closed, before he figured he should actually wash himself before Natasha picked the lock and kicked him out. It had happened before.

He grabbed a bottle of body wash, let too much leak onto his hands, and smeared it on his skin. His skin, which was adjusting to the warmth and leaving him feeling empty from it. He needed to feel it. He turned the knob, and watched the soap swirl around the drain. Like his thoughts in oblivion. Okay, this was just getting sad. He turned the heat up until it was too close to giving him second-degree burns. He grit his teeth through it and let the sensation settle the turmoil in his chest. He needed a reset. He needed to feel better than this. He had to be better than this. Steve wasn’t everything. Steve was a fling. Steve was better off on the other side of the country, and Tony felt that clash fiercely with his heavy heart, but he slammed the water off and stood there dripping, refusing to accept any more guilt.

But here’s the thing about guilt: if you repress it too hard, too fast, it tends to churn its way into anger.

Tony was already walking a blurred line of poorly controlled impulses, he knew that. He couldn’t afford another.

Downstairs, with dripping wet hair and one of Pepper’s oversized shirts in place of the button down that was currently in a plastic bag by his chair, he drank down coffee by the gallon and shoved pancakes into his mouth. Syrup dripped down his chin, but he didn’t care, didn’t even bother to take these beautiful, blessed fried goods out of the styrofoam containers Pepper walked in holding.

“So,” she said, taking a seat across from him. “How much do you all remember?”

Rhodey squinted and sighed. “Most of… some things.”

“Most of some things?” Her eyebrows raised, but she smiled.

“That’s my final answer,” he agreed, and returned to filing pancakes in his mouth. “Tony’s a bad influence.”

Tony shoved him lightly. “You’re welcome,” he said, mouth full. Okay, he shouldn’t have said anything. A table full of gazes fell on him. He swallowed thickly.

“Are you okay?” Natasha asked.

“’m fine. Healing power of pancakes.” He raised a syrup-sticky fork as a toast.

Rhodey cleared his throat. “I gotta ask. Do you remember last night?”

“More than you.”

No one was satisfied with that answer. He sighed. “Since when are you guys so sensitive? Yes, I remember Steve, Jesus.”

With the admission came a sense of relief in his friends.

“How are you going to fix it?” Natasha asked.

“Why would I fix it?” he muttered, and shoved a forkful of pancakes into his mouth.

It was his last bite. The turn in conversation had soured the taste of it. He couldn’t eat anymore.

-

It took a few more snippy remarks before they dropped it, but eventually they did, and he arrived at school with a weight on his shoulders he could only attribute to the thrust bearings and lead-acid battery in his book bag. Nothing else.

Still, he was aware the he was scanning the halls for that tall piece of blonde and gorgeous, and he was aware that it was because, despite what he’d told his friends, and despite his own instinct to sabotage all good things, he wanted to fix what he’d done. What he’d said. He just had to talk to Steve, he was sure he’d understand. Maybe not so much sure as desperately hoping, but it was close enough. It let him preserve his dignity, and that was clearly the most important issue here.

Lost in thoughts about Steve, he didn’t realise when he actually crashed into the guy. He looked up, startled, and caught Steve’s arm as he turned away.

“Wait!”

Steve stopped, and turned, and Tony wasn’t going to waste this chance. They were alone. In a crowded hallway, but that as alone as they needed to be.

“I’m sorry. I had a whole thing, there was going to be a plan and an execution and more than some worthless apology, but I’m sorry about what I said. It didn’t come out right. I was drunk.” He was speaking too loud, and earned a few stern glances from around them. His hand slipped away from the arm in his grip.

“Tony-” Steve huffed and pulled him against the wall of lockers. They were inches away from each other, shoulders pressed into metal, and despite the bustle that still surrounded them, it felt private.

Steve swallowed, visibly, and it ignited the most distant flickers of hope in Tony. He adjusted the messenger bag on his shoulder, probably filled with books instead of engine parts. “What did you mean, then?”

The hope Tony held onto was fading fast, as Steve stared at him like he couldn’t be bothered to have this conversation. He’d made up his mind.

But Tony could change it. He had to change Steve’s mind, or he might lose his own.

“That I’m glad you’re here.” He wasn’t prepared to have an emotional breakthrough in the five minutes before class started. “I want to see you again. Away from this.” He gestured at the scattering student body that surrounded them.

Steve looked hurt. Why did he look hurt?

It didn’t match his response. “Fine. One drunk pass. Let’s go out this weekend.”

Tony hesitated.

“Unless you don’t want to be seen with me,” he deadpanned.

“No! Have you seen yourself? I just don’t want to wait so long.”

“It’s a few days, you’ll survive.”

Nearly everyone had cleared out of the halls. They had to get to class.

“Tonight. There’s a drive-in, it’s old-school, and I know you do old-school.”

Steve smiled, and Tony felt the release of tension he hadn’t known was there. Steve pulled a pen out from the side of his bag and held the back of Tony’s hand in his own as he scrawled quickly across his palm in black ballpoint. An address. Objectively, the sensation was no different to anyone else’s skin on his own, but Tony languished in this one.

“This is the cutest of meet-cutes,” he laughed.

“It helps that I already know you,” Steve said, a glimmer in his eyes that Tony had missed.

“I’ll pick you up at seven.” He held Steve’s gaze, letting his presence sink in. He had the strangest thought that Steve was beautiful. There were plenty of ways to describe him, but he was beautiful. He was Apollo, and he lit up these halls.

He brushed Tony’s shoulders and went on his way, and Tony was left leaning against someone else’s locker with a rush of both exhilaration and embarrassment. He shouldn’t have been capable of thinking about anyone that way. It was the closest he’d ever come to reverence, and that left him with a sense of unease.

What would become of this year?

Shit, what would become of tonight?

-

Any day spent at school was too long, but this was was unbearable. It was agony to sit through monotony with such anticipation.

Tony couldn’t sit still through his study period, so he got up to pace instead. When Thor threw a paper plane at his head, perfectly aimed, and he looked up to see a room full of glaring faces, he figured it was time to leave. Hands in the shallow pockets of his jacket, he walked along the outside of the track, avoiding teachers’ attention with well-honed expertise.

Steve was running alongside Sam and looking significantly less exhausted than his friend. Tony smiled to himself and sat down on the manicured lawn, headphones out and music on. This was better than study hall.

His eyes had drifted closed to the rhythm of Frank Turner when someone’s insistent tapping on his shoulder shifted his attention.

Peggy and Angie, Class Secretary and Head Cheerleader. Fierce on their own and impossible together, Tony laid back, covered his eyes from the sun, and waited for the lecture.

“What can I do for you, ladies?”

Angie pulled his hand away from his face. He cringed under the sun’s rays and turned his head toward them.

“You know what we can do to your reputation around here, Tony,” Peggy said, accent crisp.

“I can’t be bothered with your threats, Carter,” he sighed, walking the line between giddy and reckless with the recurrent thought of his date tonight.

“How ‘bout mine?” Angie asked sweetly. “I’ve got a whole team behind me, ready to make your life hell.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“We’re just saying,” Peggy said, softer now. He frowned. “Don’t hurt Steve.”

He sat up and turned a glare on them. “Why would I do that?”

Angie inspected her fingernails and looked up to address him. It was a power move, and he knew it, but he respected it. “I know the whole story, and I know all about you. You screw him over, you’ll answer to me.”

“To us,” Peggy corrected.

“Right.” Angie threw her arm around Peggy. “To us.”

“Got it. Thanks for stopping by.” He put his headphones back on, stood up, and walked away from them.

They were impressive, but they weren’t that dangerous. It wasn’t that he didn’t take them seriously, but there was no threat. He wasn’t going to hurt Steve. He wasn’t capable of it, with the exception of last night’s drunken word jumble, but he wouldn’t let that happen again. He had a way of controlling these things.

(He also had a way of losing control, but he had no intention of letting Steve get caught in the crossfire of his own issues.)


	5. Hopelessly Devoted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out to my autocorrect for constantly switching my spelling from american to british english (and vice versa) to the point where I'm just writing in both and I hope no one has noticed before this

Steve’s hands were covered in ink, his lap full of pencil shavings. He put the pencil down, sketch complete, and picked up a pen to go over the lines in black ink. Bucky sighed and rolled over, stretched out on Steve’s bed while he sat up against the pillow, sketchbook resting on his knees.

“Do I have to give you the lecture?” Bucky asked, a mixture of jest and concern that came rushing back to Steve as something so familiar. California should have made him homesick, but having Bucky here was grounding.

Having Tony around… That was another matter. “You really don’t.” He glanced up, saw the lecture about to jump out of his throat, and deadpanned. “Please don’t.”

The sigh was heavy, put-upon. “You want to do this? Fine. But he’s-”

“Bucky,” he warned.

“He’s not the guy you met in the summer.”

“Then maybe I want to meet this guy.”

“There’s that total lack of self-preservation I know and hate.”

“Hey-” He pointed his pen firmly toward Bucky. “I saved you from so many fights.”

Bucky laughed, a loud burst, but it barely lasted a few seconds before it was gone again. “That’s because no one wanted to beat up the puppy.”

He grunted and chuckled, not bothering to take offence. It was true. At least now when he fought back he could actually do some damage. Not that he intended to do any damage. That was never his intention. For the most part, he was a pacifist. His thoughts travelled back to being shoved against a dumpster in fourth grade because he’d had the audacity to defend the only kid in their class smaller than he was. He smiled to himself, but it faded quickly. He wasn’t a violent person. It was the bullies that forced violence out of decent people, who just wanted to take a stand. He just wanted to take a stand. At least he was in a better position to do so these days.

His brow furrowed over the stubborn curve of Bucky’s arm that just wouldn’t shade right. He hated having to do it, but he grabbed the eraser and started the section again, over etched lines of the first attempt.

“Stop moving,” he commanded.

Bucky mocked him with an offended expression, but his body stilled beside Steve. The light caught the metal joints of his arm, and Steve’s pencil scraped across the page, light lead emerging from ink lines to trace the place shadows should have been. But no, it still wasn’t working. He grit his teeth in frustration and ripped out the page. The pencil flew across the room with the sudden movement, but he didn’t spare it any recognition.

“That was so good!” Bucky protested.

He handed it off to him. “Keep it, then.”

He snatched it up gladly, and Steve stood up to pace the room, as much as he could in so small a space.

“What’s up?” Bucky asked, begrudged.

“Nothing,” he muttered, hands flat against his hips as he stared at the floor. It was tile, terracotta squares in a room that was supposed to be an office. They looked good enough as the room was, but he had bigger plans, plans to embrace the mediterranean style of not only this room, but the rest of the house. He wanted to make it nice, if only for his mother. She wouldn’t have the time. He did. He had the time, and he could use the distraction.

He had a few hours before seven came around and brought Tony with it. He could not think about Tony right now, not without driving himself crazy. There were too many variables, too many unanswered questions, and the desperation of curiosity had eaten at him too much already.

He looked up at Bucky with renewed motivation. “You got a few hours to spare?”

-

The trip to the mall took the longest. He didn’t realise he’d disagree so profoundly with his new old best friend on what constituted “mediterranean”. When Bucky held up a full-sized pirate flag with genuine enthusiasm, Steve had to leave the store.

But they got it done. Well, they got the living room done up enough for it to count. The halls remained simple and bare, but the living room area now matched the warm, rich reds, oranges and blues that he’d contributed to his own room. It mostly involved a few ficus plants strung up and snaking around the entrance and front steps, a well placed lamp, and a couple of strategic throws. The cement walls were stained from rain on the outside, and the roof inside was tilted in an old style that made it work. Steve never expected to have a flair for design, but he was pretty proud of this, if only because it made this place a home. For Sarah. For himself, in his room, with the orange tiles and wooden slats. He had his record collection in one corner, a stack of unpacked boxes in another, and a bed too soft to be comfortable that sat unmade against the back wall. He’d already stuck up a few sketches, and an old poster, reprinted from the second world war with a very charming pilot that smiled out of the image with a message about buying bonds.

So it was a productive waste of an afternoon.

His homework sat piled up with his notes from class, and they lay forgotten as he buttoned up a dark blue shirt and resisted another glance at his phone. Tony probably wasn’t even worried about tonight. Not that Steve was worried. He was just… wary. Seeing Tony around, it was different now. He was different, and Steve didn’t know how to look at him.

If nothing else, he was curious about this side of him.

But the sun had set and his watch inched past seven at an agonizing pace. He picked up a trade copy of his favourite comic, torn at more than a few corners after years of reading it again and again. Flipping to the first page, the color work was instantly soothing. It was simple, bright, bold, a page full of blended pinks and blues. The dark blue of someone else’s night sky that met the pink lips, blue eyes, brown eyes, brown skin, white skin freckled with soft orange, of the characters. His eyes grazed over the words, words he with which he was distinctly familiar. There was a poetic flow to them, interrupted by a classic, sharpened cloud of onomatopoeia. It was still a comic, after all, but comics were underrated. They were an art form as much as any other.

He’d started to work himself up on the topic when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He dug it out as his stomach flipped, and bit his lip to keep quiet any emotion as an unknown number lit up his screen with the single-word text: outside.

He rolled off the bed and discarded any ideas of pacing himself. He was ready, and Tony was late, he wasn’t going to play any games with that.

The Thunderbird was pristine as ever, parked on the curb, engine running. Tony was leaned against the hood, but he straightened to open the door for Steve.

“Would you look at that chivalry,” he laughed, cut off as the door clicked shut next to him. He saw Tony’s grin as he jogged around to the driver’s side.

-

The movie was an old one. Sunset Boulevard in black and white. It was a beautiful movie, beautiful enough to hold Steve’s attention even as Tony shifted in his seat and their fellow movie-goers coughed and moaned inappropriately around them.

He could feel himself being watched and the weight of his own hand over Tony’s didn’t feel like enough. He looked across, at those round eyes that stared at him unabashedly as his own gaze left the screen. Dark lashes framed them, and he felt light with summer breeze as they both sank lower in their seats, deeper toward the centre, toward each other.

“You know, this doesn’t count as a summer fling anymore,” Steve said quietly.

Shadows played across Tony’s face and flickered around his dark stubble as he smiled. “You’ll have to be my kept guy instead.” He threw a glance to the screen, a blatant reference to the movie.

“Oh, you think I’m that easy?”

“I thought you were making that pretty clear.” His smirk fell as his mouth moved onto Steve’s, light and hesitant.

He pulled away and sat back in his seat, but Steve kept looking at him; his focus wasn’t going to return to the film any time soon. He leaned in, not minding that he had to reach for him, and turned Tony’s face toward his.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy now.”

“Fucking rude.” Tony pressed his mouth against Steve’s with pressure that bordered on painful, and he sank back into it, snaked his fingers down around the base of Tony’s neck. Tony kept pressing closer and Steve kept sinking under it, the pinch of teeth on his bottom lip and the soft tug of his jacket too stubborn on his shoulder.

The door was too close behind him. It only took a few seconds before Tony grunted in pain as he hit the gear stick. Steve sighed, and it disappeared in the space that opened up between them.

Tony tapped the steering wheel. “Sometimes I hate this thing,” he breathed.

He turned his eyes back on Steve, heavier now, and Steve was surprised by the surge of emotion that came with it. Just a look, gone as quickly, but he was still staring at the boy beside him, wondering how he’d forgotten what this felt like. This was the past three months, swept up in this feeling, and now he was being crushed by it and he still didn’t have enough. Enough of Tony.

“We’re stuck here ’til the end of the movie, aren’t we?” he asked, resigned. He tugged his bomber jacket firmly back around himself.

“Yes we are.” Tony’s lips pursed, and then he turned with a raised eyebrow that set Steve on guard. “There’s a bathroom right across the lot, though.”

His hand flung out and struck Tony’s arm. “That is not an option.” He thought about it a moment, and turned his head slowly to stare at him with narrow eyes. “You’d rather a public bathroom than your own car?”

He shrugged. “Not like I haven’t done it before.”

The statement was nonchalant, and it startled any teasing out of Steve. “Seriously?”

“Oh, shit,” he said, realising what he’d said, “it’s not as bad as it sounds.” He reconsidered, “Actually, it is as bad as it sounds.”

He hesitated to ask. “When did that happen?”

Tony shifted, uncomfortable now. He’d seen Tony uncomfortable talking about personal things before, but those stories - those few, snippets of stories - followed a pattern, and Steve didn’t like it. He didn’t like the pattern. He didn’t like seeing Tony like this, it was part of another side to him that Steve couldn’t attribute to the Tony he knew.

“Last year. It’s not a big deal, Rogers, how pure are you?”

“What, are you only in this to corrupt me?” It was meant to be flippant, but came out bitter. He knew Tony was snide intentionally, pulling down a design to push him away. He shouldn’t have bitten. But he didn’t need that from him.

Not from Tony.

He looked at him, frown to match his own, and he had a sense of who he was. It should have been a good moment, but it came with the knowledge that Tony in this environment wasn’t going to be honest with him in the same way he was that summer. He wasn’t okay with that, and a piece of dread that had been adrift finally found a place in his chest to take hold.

“What’s up with you?”

His gaze wasn’t judgemental, it was concerned, and Steve looked away from it. He didn’t know what was up.

“Sorry. There’s a lot to get used to.”

Tony’s hand on his leg was firm and comforting. He glanced over, at Tony now watching the movie, and had a strange reluctance to trust him, completely unreasonable and completely present in his mind.

The night wore on, and he adjusted to the sense of Tony right there, sliding right back into how they were only a few weeks ago. Had it really only been a few weeks? This reunion felt later than that. Maybe time just travelled slower when they were apart. That would explain the eternity Tony spent on the phone across the lot as credits rolled and cars around them pulled out one by one.

He trudged back to the car slowly, running a hand through his dark hair, a weak smile that only appeared when he noticed Steve watching. Tony blinked, eyes weighed down by the lashes that entranced him, and he pulled that weary face close to his own as the door shut behind him.

He drew Tony into a deep, sweet kiss before he pulled away and asked, “Who was that?”

He sighed. “My dad.”

Steve kept his expression measured. “You’re talking now?”

“If that’s what you want to call it.” He slipped his sadness away then. “Want to come back to my place?”

“I have a meeting really early tomorrow,” he smirked.

Tony leaned past his seat, and Steve met him in the middle. “Feel free to slip out early.”

Steve’s head dropped onto Tony’s shoulder with a breath of laughter. “I do have curfew though.”

He felt a hand hover over his head, but never came to contact. Tony said, “Better not piss off Mama Rogers.”

And Steve sat up, into his seat, without another word, but he felt at ease, and as they drove on, even Tony’s tension drifted out with the breeze. The radio crooned softly as background music to his thoughts, and he watched the trees fly past when he wasn’t watching the driver.

They kissed goodnight, all very proper, full of his own longing and Tony’s desperation, mixed up to leave him wondering why he thought keeping curfew was a good idea. The worst he’d get from his mother was a stern look and soft hug, because she worried, and that was why he tried not to worry her. She was a distant figure here, but if he didn’t find some sort of self-control right now, with Tony pulling away just to look at him like he was the world, he feared he would sell his soul for this one night. He wouldn’t even think about it, and he wouldn’t regret it, and that’s why he stood on his doorstep as headlights dimmed down the street, fighting off this regret because there was always tomorrow.

There was tomorrow, and there was the weekend, and not much mattered beyond that.


End file.
